Metal Slug : Super Vehicle-001 - A Disjointed Narrative
by VidGmr1996
Summary: This was (I think) the very last essay/story I had to do for my Creative Writing class back in high school (nearly 2 1/2 years ago), so be aware of its quality, even though I just recently refurbished it before I posted it up on here. Narrative structure in vein to that of Pulp Fiction, which my teacher let the class watch at the time. Hope you get some type of enjoyment out of it!
1. 12:09

**:::Disclaimer: The Metal Slug series and its characters are all owned by SNK.:::**

* * *

..:::..

 **12:09**

Marco takes a stroll toward the alleyway, with a little memorial around a street pole right in front of it. Around him, buildings are being repaired; the urban warfare here a couple years back was quite nasty.

In an attempt to make things less suspicious, he's wearing a plumber's outfit, with a fake name tag, a bag of tools and all. The only setback he has with the outfit is the size of the overalls. They're riding up past his socks, which are also pulled all the way up.

Somebody walks by him as he pulls his hat down a bit for a 'hello.' He thought that the person would've noticed who he is, but his disguise is still a success. He takes a left turn into the alleyway, as his path ends behind the building, leading to the back door.

There's a dumpster nearby along the way, but he's smelled worse before. Compared to those hundreds of men that were killed, those trash bags smell like some type of decent cologne. Right now he was able to take some time off from military duty. The perfect opportunity for the conversation he's having with close comrades.

His feet accidentally end up in a puddle of cold water just as he was making a turn around the corner towards the back of the building. He stops for a brief moment, and sighs frustratingly.

At the door, he then knocks it a few times.

"Yo. You said there was some black sludge in your sink's pipe?" Marco asks in an attempt to play it off.

A few locks can be heard unlocked one-by-one; one in particular had a number input system.

The door is opened, but the knob slides forward, dropping onto the ground. Marco looks at it for a second.

"'Ey Marco. Sorry about the knob. Y'know your shoes are wet, right?" The dark face in the shadows asks the fake plumber.

"It's alright, Trevor."

Trevor opens up the door, allowing him to come inside. Marco grabs the fallen knob, closes the door and places it back into the hole.

"You're still using that jet black hair dye?," Marco questions as he puts down the toolbox.

"Nah, man. Thanks to you, I feel more free. The grey hair doesn't mean I'm aging."

"I appreciate that you're taking my advise into account." Marco takes off his cap, then the band in his hair, letting his blonde hair loose.

"Follow me through this hallway. Oh, and Marco, take caution. You-know-who's pissed off because you're 5 minutes late. And don't say 'we've got all the time in the world,' because I know you're gonna say that."

"Then it's time for me to update my catchphrases."

Trevor leads his buddy within the dusty hallway, which leads to a room with a dim orange light bulb hanging over a table. The whole gang of off-duty soldiers look at the famed Major and the private as Trevor pulls out a chair for Marco and then the two sit down.

Eri gives Marco a stern glare; Marco gives his apathetic glare right back at her.

"Alright everybody; it's time to continue to talk about the organization we're all involved with—"

"—The Regular Army. Sorry," Fio interrupts Tarma.

"...Thanks, I guess." Tarma clears his throat.

"Anyways, does anybody have anything to say about the Regular Army?"

"For the past few years, I say screw 'em," Eri answers. "Command keeps blaming intelligence despite the fact they don't even listen. They _never_ listen until it's too late."

"And for some reason, were still forced to stay within the Army. They keep giving the Peregrine Falcons too much credit." Fio adds.

"That's ridiculous. Really?" Marco asks.

"Okay, you guys are given a butt-load of awards just because you led your squad to victory during the First Modern War, and it's the same thing that happened with the second one." Eri answers back.

"You ever notice that they were ranking people to levels that they shouldn't deserve to be in?"

"Oh, you mean like you, us?" Eri asks.

"Exactly. I think I don't deserve to be Sergeant, really. I think Natalie Cook should've been the one to have the privilege."

"Many should've been given promotions for what they've done during the Second Modern War."

"After reflection upon what command had done, they've been making some dumb decisions."

"I'd thought you'd know by now," Tarma tells Marco.

"Now I do. Hatred blinded me all this time. I became insane because Morden became insane. He didn't have anything against me personally, but he had something personal with the Regular Army all along. I feel much calmer after you were talking with me, Fio."

Fio smiles.

"I appreciate it."

"Hey Marco, you said you've dug through the Regular Army's database files and found something, right?" Tarma asks Marco while tapping a toothpick on the table.

"Mm-hmm. I guess that Morden wasn't a heartless fiend all along. Everybody has some type of motive in mind while doing something. I discovered that he had a son, who was 22 years old, that just got out of college in New York. He had a girlfriend and the two went to Central Park to spend some time with one another. Before you know it, an enemy air raid happens out of nowhere. They had their own, bastardized planes based off of the Army's. The Regular Army's top officers commanded a pilot to bomb the area. Intel told them that all of the civilians weren't out yet. They were shied away. The bombs fell. Morden discovers this and then defects from the Regular Army, along with most of his soldiers that looked up to him. Morden became insane and started taking over territories."

"Yeah, I remembered when I saved the president from him. That was the point were people nicknamed him the 'Reborn Devil' because of the shape of his shadow," Tarma adds to the story.

"He's been trying to take down the Regular Army ever since because of what happened to his son. We may be doing the world a favor, but that doesn't mean that the organization we're serving under isn't hiding anything."

"Now that I think about it, are you saying that we were the bad guys this whole time?," Eri asks sarcastically.

"Pretty much. It's quite the revelation, huh," Marco answers in a similar manner.

"I really want to leave the Regular Army. I just want to lead a new life, create a garage bike shop and sell customized bikes. I'll be obliged to do it for the rest of my life," Tarma replied.

"I agree, Tarma. But I heard that intel had discovered that Morden's still planning to cause another war, but he seems to be just, if not more, angry at the Mars People. I bet all of my technology on two cents that a Third Modern War is near."

"What I was thinking of is that during the war, I try to fake my own death and be labeled as 'M.I.A.'. One of you will have to tell me that the Regular Army 'confirms' this covertly. After that, I secretly join Morden's army, and all is well and done. If any one of you guys would like to join me in this scheme, you're welcome to do so," Fio suggests.

"Judging from your appearance, you look like the usual naïve girl. But you can't judge a book by its cover." Trevor adds.

"I understand; it's the glasses, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I really don't need these glasses, but I usually feel 'naked' for some reason without them. It fits my 'outer persona' if you will."

A few of them laugh a little.

"Marco, you actually giggled," Nadia asks.

"Well, it's always a nice thing to have a change of heart. I don't want to have a grudge and permanently be a Debbie downer," Marco tells Nadia. "So is anybody willing to join the Rebel Army instead?" he asks as he raises his hand. "I know I am. I have to pay for all the aggression I had with Morden. I almost killed the poor bastard after we won the second Modern War."

Fio raises her hand, too. Nadia does the same a second later. The others don't for whatever reason.

"This is all?" Marco asks.

"I have a plan. In order to take out the Regular Army, we have to first weaken its network from the outside, and then attack it head-on on the inside. This is all part of one big coupe d'état." Trevor gives some more detail on what he'll perform when the plan is put in motion.

"I would join you, Marco, but I think it'll be best if I help you out by still being a private. I'll both leak out the information hidden from the world, and pretend that it was somebody else that's hacking into the databases. Then, I'll make it as if I'm trying to counteract the problem."

"And I guess I'm in charge of blowing stuff up once we get into the heart of the Army," Eri says.

"Marco, you know that I'm one of your closest friends, like brothers and all, but I'm unsure about this. We have a lot of relationships with other people. It just doesn't feel right. At the moment, the least I could do to save the world is to wipe out the Mars People once they return. But what if I accidentally kill one of you—." Tarma sighs as he places his hand on his forehead. Cold sweat dampens his face.

"Tarma, you're not yourself today," Nadia says.

"I'm _always_ like this. You see, I respect Marco and Trevor—anybody who are okay with who I really am." He takes his pair of sunglasses off and takes the toothpick out of his mouth. He holds both items in front of everybody's faces. "These glasses and this toothpick are the constituents of my mask, so that I wouldn't be called a pansy 24/7. I put on this tone of aggression on my face whenever I'm around a bunch of guys. I mean, I did save the president to back me up, but that still doesn't mean that I don't have butterflies in my stomach. I really want to get out of wars altogether; seeing corpses lying around is making sicker, and sicker, and _sicker_. And right now, this is a tough decision for me."

"It's your choice, Tarma. It's all up to you, man," Marco reassures Tarma a bit. "How about I stay in the Peregrine Falcons Squad for a while—?"

"No, it's...it's fine. You already have a thick plan thought out, why compromise it?," he responds to his friend while putting his shades into his vest.

Fio assuages his stress by rubbing his shoulder.

"You are going to be fine. You'll live. I'm sure of it. Being optimistic will help you out in a lot of things. I am pretty disturbed by what I've seen in the outer world, but I don't let that get me down."

"Tarma…" Eri gets Tarma's attention. "Have you ever been treated like somebody thrown into the circular pile in your life?"

"Not that I know of."

"I've been through hell and back. I was an orphan, grew up to be a pretty tough kid. I was eight when I discovered a dead body in some alley. I later found out that it was own mother. My adopted mother treated me like a piece of crap, and my friends started dying around me, whether it may be suicide or not. Have _you_ experienced any of that?" Eri emphasized every single word in her question to Tarma.

"No…"

"You gotta rise up. Rise up from the bull-crap. I motivate myself everyday. Some people get annoyed and I just want to smash their skulls into the layered walls of my bunker, but I stop myself. Because I know that the storm won't always cast its shadow upon me daily. The light's just hidden, and once the clouds diverge, the light's exposed. Even if you don't see it, you can feel it internally. Have the courage."

There's a small pause.

"So are you in, or out of Marco and Fio's plan?"

"No," Tarma says in a relaxed manner.

"Alright then. Remember what I said, Tarma Roving."

Nadia sighs. Trevor brushes his hair with his hand.

"So is the meeting over?" Trevor asks.

"I guess so," Marco answers back, while stretching out. They all rise up from their chairs after a little while, and Marco heads toward the hallway first, with the others joining suite except Eri, who turns off the dim light and exits with them.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter 1. I remember typing up this chapter on the night before I had to hand it in, as I had trouble writing some interesting chapters for the story. This one was fun to write, as it showed the typical Metal Slug protagonists outside of the war zone, and delves into the topic of gray morality, although in an amateurish manner, haha. And I give thanks to the now-defunct Metal Slug Database website (and the Internet Archive!) for providing the stories inside the manuals!_**


	2. 14:09

..:::..

 **JOURNAL LOG : MAY 30st, 2031, 14:09 PM**

Some of us were captured by that Army that's ruling the globe. I've witnessed it. Humans are just as bad as us.

We're just as bad as humans, except that we don't probe. I mean, what the heck? That's that word, right? Probe? Why would we do such a nasty thing in the first place?

I'm a pacifier. I don't want to fight, but we were drafted for the 2nd Morden War and now the third. In fact, I shot down an enemy aircraft, but I safed him. I wasn't able to tell him the impending doom that'll happen to the Mars, though. I was not able to speak human at the time.

I actually like humans. Some are more ignorant than others, but then again specism can't be the only 'discriminism' that exists. I wanted to prevent the 3rd War, but dang it, I couldn't. Thay wouldn't listen.

Other aliens we've last been at war with back in the last millennium are planning their expansion again. I found out about this with my technailogy skills. These type of skills seems to be 'the thing' on Earth.

But yeah, Thay wouldn't listen. I told them, the femmies are coming. Thay said we are minds of the pinnacle technailogy. I told them again, the femmies are coming and I found it through my transmitter. They denied it. I hope that this isn't the case on Earth either; if so, both of us need to straighten this out.

Now Mars is doomed. The Mars People are doomed. I'm a Mars People, so my life is going to dip straight into a bucket full of crap once the femmies come. Once they come.

I tried to head my shaky plate over to the planet to spy them, but Thay stopped me. I had no other choice but to head to the humans' home.

Today, I am a Man. I disguised myself as a Rebel shoulder, as the 'missing' shoulder. That missing shoulder is leading a new life after I saved him during the 2nd Modern War. This militia is scary. Certain humans scream at you and command you to do as they say. I mean, this is kind of like back on Mars, except I'm used to the volume of our voices. We sound like a rubber ducky compared to a human Metal Slug. With the disguise of course. In fact, two of the 'Metal Slug' heroes decided to join the Rebel Army. I didn't say a thing when I saw them, but I did that 'smile-and-nod' thing that humans do. I swore at one point the blond man looked at me funny as I nervously walked away after I had shooked my head 'around town' at him. I guess they don't communicate like that.

I feel bad that the Earth has to deal with all this bull. They have to deal with theirselves, black magic, Mars People and then the femmie ones.

If Morden was the one who was in that plane, I would've done the same thing I done to that other man. He would live a free life, while I try to make the humans and us work together to stop the femmie ones from invading the planet.

Now that I think about it, I'm not as much as a pacifier as I thought to be.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter 2. I don't remember what caused me type this up, but I guess I wanted to change things up a bit by having a journal entry instead of a different scene. It's funny that my teacher put corrections on this part of the story, but every typo you see on the chapter was completely intentional. I had done this to show that this Mars Person (in some sort of human disguise if you weren't aware) was still learning the English language, and you still see bits of his native linguistics here and there throughout. Bet I got a cheap laugh from you or two. By the way, the 'femmie ones' are not referring to Social Justice Warriors/feminists, haha, but the Venusians. You know, Venus, the female goddess. Yeah, I had to look that up when I was writing this chapter a couple years back; in fact I barely knew about all that SJW business until later on._**


	3. 13:55

..:::..

 **13:55**

Jet streaks are seen high up in the night sky as the remaining soldiers get near their destination. The group is still headstrong, having defeated the majority of the opposing aircraft. It's always calm before the next storm.

The tower the Regulars are approaching had risen up from the ground through the use of black magic, while most of New York City has now been annihilated, with cackling ember coating what once were dense city blocks, almost like looking at the surface of the Sun.

The soldiers are carrying a rare model of the Metal Slug tank, which was produced with gold, now an extremely rare metal in these dark days. Tarma leads the small airship carrier with his own hovercraft, the Slug Flyer.

He adjusts his helmet, as he's starting to get the cold sweats again.

Everything that led up to this point filled up his mind. The Rebel Army's agendas, how morally grey they appeared to be at first seemed to teeter itself towards the benefit of the world after finding out what's the deal with the Regular Army.

The weakened state of the Mars Peoples' army, the battle between the extra-terrestrials and the Earthlings is now clashing up infinite skies of space, where Rebels and Regulars alike rip through their dense stronghold.

And finally, the Ptolemaic Cult taking over what the Mars People tried to do at first, but they seem to have an air of uneasiness that surprisingly enshrouds the one the aliens had left, as the Cult truly left its warning in destroying the old Germi factory landmark, Marco's homeland Idaho now burnt to a crisp, and soon the City that Never Sleeps will follow its footsteps.

It seemed as though the battles never end, but here and now, his gut is telling him that everything's coming to a head. The words Eri said to him back at that meaning truly meant something to him just as much as it meant for her. Plus, he's even the Major of his own squad. If he's able to get most of his men this far, who's to say that defeating the Cult isn't possible?

Letting these beneficiary thoughts lay themselves on his mind, the Major breathes in and then exhales right away, his face now streaked with confidence and anxiety all at once.

Tarma taps the buttons on the cockpit, having done it so routinely without even looking down with a glance, and pulls a levers out, rotating it counterclockwise in a quick twist. Out comes four Vulcan cannons from the belly of the futuristic aircraft.

He then fumbles with his walkie-talkie for a bit before having a good grip on it.

"Everybody, hang tight. We're going in!"

The other soldiers prepare their aerial vehicles for combat, activating their own sets of Vulcan cannons.

Already, Eri notices a missile approaching Tarma's Slug Flyer. No time to prep the cross-hairs-she banks to the side, circling around her fellow comrades as she fires the Vulcan shots at the belligerent projectile.

It explodes before it even reached Tarma's aircraft.

"Thanks Sergeant."

"Anytime, Major," Eri replies.

Tarma never thought he'd live to see the day where he's been given that title. Egos aside, he sets his sights down at the tower's defense, aiming his weapons at his point of interest. Down there, he sees cultists in masks commanding a guerilla officer, who nods in approval. But before they could complete their actions, Tarma dispatches his rapid fire as pieces of bricks disperse into the air.

The cannons are quickly making their way up along a certain pattern in order to quickly make work of the tower's defense. The cult organization is on its last legs at this point, with several of the masked members frantically talking with each other before they run into a dark entrance.

 _Oh great, they're going down too easy...something's about to hit the fan soon enough-stay calm, deep breaths. If Marco and Eri are dead, then this victory's especially for them. For everybody._

Tarma aims cross hairs straight to the bottom of the tower. He launches the high-speed missiles towards the base, unfortunately, he discovers that a shield had been put up.

Tarma then notices that the radar is picking up something headed straight for him-large debris.

He grabs the communicator.

"Everybody ascend!"

He drops the communicating device and lets loose on the large projectiles.

Tarma notices that some of the debris had something that had been all spent up on Earth now.

"Oh no-too late. They were already using the last remaining silver to make their new element. Damn it!"

Eventually, the shield has a hole opened up as an entrance to the top of the tower for the soldiers.

"Ah, welcome to Hades," Tarma says to himself.

Everybody lands on the top of the tower to meet the big bad guy himself. Garbed in a pale white cloak, he stands by his followers.

Tarma gets out, ready with his interchangeable machine gun.

The other soldiers join him for the battle. The masked followers are ready to attack them. However, the Ptolemaic Leader telepathically tells them to stand their guard.

Tarma cocks the grenade launcher attached to his weapon.

"What, you don't want to tell me to surrender or else-," a rocket zooms right past the cloaked leader's, head.

"Gimlet, that was the last rocket! It's not even a heat-seeker! We're running low on supplies," Walter yells at Gimlet.

"Damn! Sorry," Gimlet apologizes.

The Ptolemaic Leader uses his mysterious powers to lift up mangled mecha-bots and pieces of the tower, among other things.

"He's at it again, everybody!," Tarma exclaims. "Everybody aim..." They do what they're told.

The rubble is shot down at them. The moment that happens, Tarma tells everybody to shoot.

Missiles, lasers and speedy bullets destroy the rubble and weakened the large pedestal the leader stands on. The leader quickly lifts up two mini-towers with the raising of his arms as bullets are being deflected by his shield. Tyra hops back, narrowly being hit by one of the deflected shots.

Trevor happened to be in a spot where on of the towers raised up, as he flies into the air.

He frantically pulls out the parachute, but it fumbles, entirely tangling itself around his body.

"Trevor!" Tarma screams. Walter bolts, leaps and then slides toward the edge of the tower as he grabs onto the parachute.

"Hang on!"

"Y'think I won't?!"

"This is not the time to—aaaaah!"

Tyra gasps and screams as a large pile of debris come crashing down on the edge where the two are at. Everything seems to be in slow-motion for Tarma, as a chunk of the tower is smashed off with the shrilling sound of the two shrieking as everything falls into the smokey abyss.

With much haste, Tarma turns back on the Slug Flyer and lifts it up into the air. Tarma spots the same missile Gimlet had shot out, noticing it's heading right toward him. Tarma quickly initiates the 'Full Frontal Attack' with the flick of a switch.

He hops out of the vehicle while releasing his parachute, as the rocket heads toward the Slug Flyer, which is headed toward the cult leader.

Gimlet smirks.

Tarma breaks his fall a bit as he lands, but still has plenty of pain in his bottom once he lands on it. A large explosion split opens the pedestal, but the Ptolemaic Leader's floating, much to everyone's surprise. However, much of his clothing and his skin are charred and burnt. He's grimacing from the intense pain and he seems to be calling forth something in a different language. The cult followers are floating around him.

"My translator, it's can't detect what he's saying...," Tyra tells everyone.

Instances of thunderclaps and lighting flashes sporadically around the tower. Everybody aims at the tower. Once the last lighting bolts strikes the air, the man of dark magic disappears into thin air, along with the masked people. A ghoulish shape appears where they floated for a second. After that, the sky literately becomes pitch black.

"Oh my god..." Nadia says, afraid of what's about to come.

Tarma still attempts to stay strong.

"Everybody ready your positions!"

Suddenly, they all hear something. Something loud.

"Wings?"

A flash of lighting stabs through the clouds yet again, and a gargantuan, demonic shape is seen only for a split-second.

"What was—?"

In such a sudden moment, the large, demon rises up in front of everybody. Tarma looks at it's detail in a few mere seconds in awe. He sees the intimidating red eyes, the fluffy hair, the black silhouette and the glowing skull in the middle of its chest. And then everything goes black for Tarma.

"Tarma!" Eri screams as she holds Tarma in his arms. She's in Rebel Army attire. The demon breathes from its invisible, blackened mouth and a off-settling, icy mouth made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and made her heartbeat speed-up, but her face was still calm as ever as she dashes toward her comrade. After a while, she always assumed that things can get worse, and so far she seems to be right.

She grabs his jumpsuit, anxiously shaking him back and forth. The gargantuan being behind her steadily rises up, its anorexic shape outlined by frostbite-blue curves.

"Tarma, wake up! Tarma! Errgh! Well, at least you tried, Roves." Eri puts him down and quickly assumes the position as leader.

"Alright everyone! You there, get Tarma to somewhere safe!" she commands Nadia.

"Where?!"

"I don't know, a safe distance away from this thing!" She shouts back while she brandishes her weapon.

Nadia makes a run for it and picks up the major by his limp arms, dragging him away from what may be their final battle.

"Let's see what a sergeant could do," Eri mutters to herself as she heads toward the airship carrier, toward the golden tank.

The large demon, now a farther distance away from the tower, holds up its scythe high in the murky sky, preparing to strike...

* * *

 ** _End of chapter 3. Sorry for the mediocre writing for the aerial combat scene. I didn't have much time to write the story at the time, and I decided to keep some of my amateurish writing skills and rewrote some of the somewhat 'cringier' parts and parts where the chapter felt a bit blank. But as you can see, I already referenced pretty much six Metal Slug games with the span of three chapters. Guess I just wanted to do my take on pretty much most of the series, and I was interested in delving into the interesting elements of Metal Slug 5 a bit. In fact, this story was going to be a stepping stone for a much larger, more polished (as far as I can do with the 'skills' I have) Metal Slug anthology. In fact, it was going to be an animated Flash series, but I never had the time do so. So, the least I could do is post what I have on here, and even then, I never really got around to writing more stories (maybe I'll do it someday, maybe), and as of right now I still haven't watched lots of war movies that could've gave me some more brainpower to put into the project. But whatever, just glad I'm posting what I got on here._**


	4. 14:44

..:::..

 **14:44**

"You think we'll trust you?" asked General Quaid of the Regular Army.

"You might as well. The only thing I'm involved with is the pact I made with the Mars People, which is well past broken at this point, and the White Baby Crisis, which involved my good man Manfred Amadeus here producing a virus to hack into your systems. But I didn't break into most of your databases, since it seemed like somebody already did the job," Morden replies.

"I had retrieved a bunch of Slugs stolen from the Ptolemaic Army and modified them for all of us," said Amadeus.

"I think we're good enough to take care of the situation without somebody as vapid as you, General," Quaid spits back to the Rebels' leader.

"My only son was in the middle of a surprise airborne ambush at Central Park, New York. The Ptolemaic Cult were the ones that done this crap. And then, the Regular Army had to come along and bomb the whole place, and I still want to help you guys out, despite the fact I despise the Regular Army, and the Americans," a frustrated Morden replied.

"There's your reason why I defected from your so-called corruption-free organization. Your direction of 'show-of-force' is utterly inferior to what I do. If we're under attack, I still a have a battle plan, no matter what you've done; I could be the only man standing in the middle of a battlefield, and the bullets would just dance all around me considering Command's nonsense! And you guys are trying to keep the UFO sightings a secret, which clearly shows you how naive you all are. Didn't you guys forget that we're in the digital age? Hackers could leak information and it'll still get across to some people somehow. I got one right by me. If the officials had listened to intel telling them about the bombings that had my boy involved in the mix—." Morden slams his fists hard on the table, with his slightly yellow, gritting teeth exposed.

A Regular Army soldier readies his gun at Morden in reaction. Then a bunch of soldiers from both sides aim their weapons at each other.

"No! Lower your weapons, Peregrine Falcons," General Quaid tells the Regular Army soldiers.

Trevor, the one that started this brief stint, is hesitant to comply at first while the others do as their told. He then puts his weapon away; the Rebel soldiers do the same, too. Even if he's in on the plan, he still doesn't completely trust Morden.

Morden is just mumbling words to himself as he shakes his head, trying his best to offset his anger and sorrows.

General Quaid slowly looks down, hands folding behind his back.

"I, eh, am terribly sor-" General Morden grabs his collar and slams him on the table.

"Listen to me! Listen to me and answer me good...when there's a problem, what do you do?"

"General Mord-"

"Nobody said for you to talk, Amadeus. So Quaid, question number 1. When there's a problem, what do you do?"

"Uh...um...solve?"

"Correct! Correct. Next question. Do you listen to your intel?" Quaid is nervously sweating bullets at the moment. Morden pulls his collar tighter.

"Answer me!"

"No-no! No, Morden no, just let me go-!"

"I'm not finished, Quaid. What I'm about to say isn't a question. I'll emphasize it good." He grips onto Quaid's nose.

"Listen. To. Your. Intel. Understand?" He asks as twisted it hard with every word he had said.

"Do you understand!?" Morden spits out at Quaid.

"Yes..." Quaid weakly spurts out. Morden weakens his grip and eventually slips away from Quaid's nose. His nose is of a deep red color; so is Morden's face. Quaid lightly taps his nose a few times, grimacing a bit with every tap.

Morden wipes his nose, adjusts his collar and clears his throat.

"Shall we get started with the RR Alliance, General?"

Morden seems to be a bit optimistic, as it looked like there was something gleaming in his intact eye. Morden looks up at Quaid and lets out his hand to Quaid. Morden stops Quaid before he shakes his hand.

"Are you going to straighten things out with the Regular Army, Quaid? Or should I have to humiliate you like that again?"

"I'll solve the former problem." Morden still has his hand out and stretches it out a bit for a second.

"Well?"

The two shake hands.

"The RR Alliance has been confirmed, Quaid. The Alliance has been confirmed."

 _So I'm guessing the coup d'etat is now cancelled,_ Marco thinks aloud to himself in his heads.

 _An alliance. I hope Tarma will feel less nervous,_ Eri thinks to herself.

* * *

 ** _End of chapter 4. This is sort of a follow-up to chapter 1. This expands the concept of the Rebel and Regular Armies teaming up as seen in various Metal Slug games. It was fun to write General Morden, to show a more ruthless side of him as opposed to humorous moments he has in the games (not that there's anything wrong with that! Without all that silliness, it ain't Metal Slug!). And if you're curious, I got the name 'Quaid' from Arnold's character in the film, Total Recall. Just reading this chapter again surprised me, I didn't know that I wrote some of this dialogue, hahaha._**


	5. 22:16

..:::..

 **22:16**

"This is pretty good," said Lenbord as he and his starving comrades eat something that looks kind of grotesque.

"Can somebody pass the hot sauce? The Mars People's head tastes better with it."

"No, ketchup's probably even better."

"Well, I might as well use both."

They continue to dine on the alien squid-like thing for the night, as the fire's dim light illuminates the crew.

"Uhh...now that I think about it, would eating aliens give you cancer?" asked Jimkov.

"Tastes like chicken, and I like chicken. And if you don't like chicken, then get used to it, 'cause this is all we have to eat to prepare for tomorrow."

The soldiers abruptly stop eating their meals, as some escape from the gunfire. Once guy in particular leaps into some bushes, cutting himself in the process.

Ralf Jones hunches over by the mobile Metal Slug tank driven by one of his allies. Ralf is a middle-aged soldier who had returned to serve his duty to protect the world.

By his side is fellow accomplice Clark Still, as they examine the area. Everything is quiet until they hear a quiet rustling noise.

Using body language, Ralf tells Clark to stay while he head over to the source of the noise.

As Ralf approaches the spot, he sees a helmet thrown out of the bush. He finds a peculiar person tangled within the bushes, who doesn't look like he'll recover soon enough.

"Major?"

Marco's lifeless body lies on the branches, with a splotch in a deep shade of red encased in his chest. Ralf checks for a pulse. He shakes his head 'no.' Ralf kneels before the body for a moment of silence. Once he's done, he unties the bandanna that was around his head. "I would do this for my friend, Clark, but you're just as respectful as him," he says as he wipes his eyes. After he stops wiping his eyes, he tucks the bandanna into the collar area of Marco's outfit. He salutes for a good, brief moment.

"But...why, Major Rossi? Why did you assimilate to Morden's forces?" He readjusts his vest and picks up his gun. "There's gotta be a reason...I'll have to reflect on this some time." He heads back up to his fellow soldiers.

A safe distance away, Marco smiles. He takes out some piece of technology he had in his shirt, and catches himself before he was even able to loudly exhale. No doubt that Ralf and the others would have heard it over the fire. He looks at it as he quietly smirks pulling out a packet of cheap Halloween blood underneath the dark splotch on his outfit.

"...Worked like a charm-" Marco's sentence is stopped short as his face contorts into one of concern. He looks down at his crotch, where a branch held snug onto the zipper of his pants. "Damn shrubbery."

THE END

* * *

 ** _End of the fifth and final chapter. Fun-fact: This was the only chapter that I thought up of that wasn't written on that one fateful night before the due date. This immediately conjured up in my head the moment I wanted to make a Metal Slug story. This chapter has that dark humor that Metal Slug's famous for, although a bit more on the gross side of things, haha. The way Marco faked his death is admittedly a little wonky, and I tweaked it up just a little to make it a bit clearer. Like I said, I kept the majority of the story the way it is to show how much I was able to comprehensively write/type in a night's worth. I felt bad though since I pretty much slacked in my Creative Writing class up until that point (it's that Senoritis...), and I think this was the very first story I wrote to receive a check plus. Just joking, hahahaha (Or am I...?)! Hope you enjoyed it, I have more stories in store for you all (pun was not intended), but unfortunately for Metal Slug fans, most of them aren't based on Metal Slug. They're based on SNK, though! Just guess which series...anyways, have a nice day, night, or whatever!_**


End file.
